


Dog Tags

by starlight_starbright



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers - Freeform, Birthdays, Blowjobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky's Dog Tags, Confessions, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Gifts, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt!Steve, Identity Issues, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mental Instability, Missions, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky, Recovering Memories, So is Bruce, Tony Is a Good Bro, True Love, lovemaking, pre-serum steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Prove it—prove you’re my friend, prove I was who you say I am, prove I’m anything but the gunmetal in my mouth and the slaughter to my name." Steve just reaches up and removes the dog tags from around his neck and presses them, gently, into Bucky’s open palm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this prompt on tumblr, so the idea did not come from me, but I have embellished it and made it my own.
> 
> There will be a second chapter but I've been gone for so long that I figured you guys deserved something.

Steve is six years old when the boy with the dark hair and blue-grey eyes fends off the bullies beating Steve up. Steve looks up at the boy who helps him up with a scowl on his face.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” he mutters, dragging his hand over his bottom lip to wipe off the blood. The boy looks at him curiously for a few moments before sticking out his hand and grinning.

“Sure ya did. I’m Bucky. I'm seven.” The boy—Bucky—waggles his fingers at Steve. Steve takes the boy’s hand and shakes it once before drawing his hand back.

“I’m Steve. I’m six.”

“Well, Stevie,” Bucky says, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulder and steering him out to the street. “Looks like they got you good. You always get beat up like that?” Bucky peers down at him and Steve nods. “What’s so bad about running away?”

“I just don’t like bullies,” Steve mutters. Bucky grins at him.

“I like you. We’re friends now, okay?” Steve looks up and smiles back. He’s never had a friend before.

“Okay.”

-

Steve is thirteen when he has his first kiss. Well, does it count as a first kiss if it’s just practise for his best friend? They’re in the room they share at the orphanage when Bucky corners him on the cot.

“C’mon, Stevie!” Bucky whines. “I hafta know how to kiss my date goodnight!” And since Steve’s never been able to deny Bucky anything, he relents. Bucky drags him onto the bed and lifts a hand to his face.

“Bucky, I don’t . . .” Steve tried, but Bucky shushes him.

“Shh, I need to focus.” Steve smiles at the concentrated look on his best friend’s face, trying to hide his nervousness behind laughter. “Don’t laugh, Steve,” Bucky complains. “I’ve never done this before.” Steve bites his lip to hold in his laughter, praying that Bucky can't feel how hard his heart is beating. “Okay,” Bucky whispers, leaning in.

It’s awkward and the angle is wrong and Bucky presses down a little too hard, but its perfect and it’s Bucky. Bucky’s lips are soft on his and his hand is big and warm cupping Steve’s jaw. It’s not a long kiss, barely even a kiss at all. It only lasts for a few seconds, but those few seconds are the best of Steve’s life. When Bucky pulls away, Steve lets his eyes flick open to meet Bucky’s.

“How was that?” Bucky asks. Steve’s mind is reeling. It’s been his first kiss and he just wants more.

“I dunno. It felt fine to me.” Steve knows that if he asks for more Bucky will make fun of him. He’s already used to being called a fairy by the guys at school, he doesn’t need Bucky thinking that about him, too. Bucky grins at him, pulling away.

“Great! Janie will never know what hit her.” Steve finds himself smiling along with his best friend as Bucky starts to chat excitedly about where he’s taking Janie and what they’re going to do. But all Steve can think is that he can't be normal. That wanting to kiss your best friend isn’t normal. That he may be a fairy after all.

-

Steve is sixteen when he realises he’s queer. Three years ago, Bucky’d been his first kiss and he hadn't kissed anyone since—hadn't wanted to. He doesn’t like girls the way that Bucky does even though his best friend tries to set him up on double dates with him. Steve’s never interested in it. He doesn’t like to dance, he doesn’t like to drink, and he doesn’t like girls.

Of course, he doesn’t tell Bucky that. He can't ever tell Bucky that. He can't tell anyone. It’s illegal for Steve to have these feelings for another guy. It’s an abomination. He could get arrested or killed for it. He has to keep it to himself.

So Steve goes on the dates Bucky sets him up with. He pretends to have fun and to act disappointed when the girls say hey that was fun, but I don’t think I wanna go out again. He tries not to let his heart race when Bucky throws an arm around his shoulder or gets a little too close when they curl up together to share body heat during the winter months at the run-down orphanage. He tries not to let his mind wander.

But Steve can't lie to himself. He can't deny that he’s whole-heartedly in love with his best friend.

-

Steve is eighteen when he moves in with Bucky. Bucky’s been out of the orphanage for a year now and had gotten a semi-regular job down at the docks making just enough money to pay for the one-room apartment he and Steve share. And although Steve can't do any kind of heavy lifting, he does sell his artwork as often as he can to try to help out.

But the one thing that happens every week without fail is Bucky going out. He goes out on dates every week, sometimes dragging Steve out with him. Steve goes only because Bucky begs, because he looks so disappointed when Steve says no. But those nights always turn out the same—the girls fawning over Bucky and Steve being left out. Not that he minds, he’s too busy trying not to stare at Bucky himself.

And one night, when they get back to the apartment, Bucky is drunk and Steve is trying to get Bucky’s shoes off and Bucky falls over onto the cot, bringing Steve down on top of him. Steve tries to get away, too afraid that his body will betray him with Bucky being so close, but Bucky just wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and hums happily.

“You’re warm, Stevie,” he murmurs, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. Steve is panicking. Bucky’s so close, so sleepy and content and Steve doesn’t want to move but he knows he has to get up because Bucky is drunk and this isn’t real. Steve tries to get away again, but Bucky is holding tight. “Don’t go,” he pleads, looking up at Steve. And since Steve can't ever deny Bucky anything, Steve shifts to get comfortable and leans his head down on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Buck, if we stay like this we’ll be stiff in the morning.” Bucky groans softly and opens his eyes.

“I'm comfortable,” he whispers. “You feel good, Stevie.” And Steve’s done resisting, melting into Bucky’s body and tucks his face into Bucky’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of smoke and something warmer . . . like sugar. They stay like that for what feels like hours, neither of them sleeping but not fully awake. Steve eventually slips out of Bucky’s grasp to situate them into a more comfortable position before curling back up and pulling the cover over them. Right before he falls asleep, Steve swears he felt Bucky’s lips ghost over his.

-

Steve is nineteen, closer to twenty, really, when his feelings for Bucky finally come out. Bucky’d just come back from a date—one that went really well—and Steve’s had a bad day.

He’d run into some guys harassing a girl and tried to stand up for her only to get beat down—again. And Bucky’d come home from work only to lecture him before going out again, leaving Steve frustrated and angry with himself. He takes a shower when Bucky leaves, running a warm cloth over his face and body where the blood has caked and cracked over his skin, hissing in pain when it reopens some of the wounds.

He knows he shouldn’t get into these fights, but if he doesn’t stand up for those girls, who will? He can't just sit by and do nothing but his recklessness is putting even more stress on Bucky. Bucky’d said. He’d said that Steve was a burden, that he can't always be worrying about Steve and that he can't always be there to take care of him. And that hurt. It had felt like a knife to the chest to hear Bucky say those things. And then on top of that, Bucky’d gone out with a girl—someone Steve’s never met—and left him alone to feel like shit.

Steve’s breathing is rapid and shallow when he gets out of the shower. It’s cold and he’s angry and scared and confused. He clutches his chest as he gets dressed and tries to slow his breathing, but it does no good. There’s a white hot heat in his chest—the tell-tale sign of an asthma attack. He knows he should get his inhaler, but they can't afford to refill it. He knows this is part of the recklessness Bucky is talking about—not taking his medicine when he knows he should—but he doesn’t want to waste it if he can calm himself down on his own.

Turns out, he can't. He doesn’t manage to slow his breathing and ends up passed out on the couch. He wakes up to Bucky pacing in front of him. Steve takes a ragged breath, still feeling like his chest is on fire. Bucky just glares at him, eyes hard and angry, fists balled up at his sides. Steve tries to get up to get some water, but Bucky pushes him down—a little rougher than he should have—and gets it for him. Bucky doesn’t say a word when he hands the glass over, lips mashed in a hard line. Steve doesn’t say anything either, but the silence is tense and crackling with anger—mostly from Bucky’s end. Steve is resigned to the situation, readying himself for another lecture.

Bucky seems to be taking deep breaths, obviously trying to calm down. Steve can't tell if its worry or anger or both in his eyes, but he just hopes that the fight is over quickly. He doesn’t know if he can take much more of Bucky being angry at him and he’s so tired. He’s bone-deep exhausted. Bucky continues to pace, stopping to glare at Steve every few seconds, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Can we just get this out of the way?” Steve asks, ten minutes into the silence. Bucky looks over at him but doesn’t respond. Steve’s voice is raspy and it hurts to talk, but he wants to just get this over with. He already knows most of what Bucky is going to say, but two arguments in one day is rare. Bucky doesn’t stop pacing, even when he begins to talk.

“I don’t understand you, Steve,” he says quietly. But his voice is hard and full of anger—Steve can hear it. It’s almost tangible in the cold of the room. Steve shivers with the power in Bucky’s voice. “I don’t understand why you do this. Why you go looking for fights, why you feel the need to be everyone’s damn hero. I know that you’re just trying to do the right thing, but goddamnit, Steve. I can't keep watching you get hurt.” Bucky stops pacing to fall to the floor at the head of the couch. He doesn’t look at Steve, but Steve still feels like he can still feel Bucky’s gaze on him. He shivers again. “You don’t take care of yourself. Like just now—I come home and you’re fuckin’ passed out on the couch, pale as a sheet. I didn’t know if you were breathing or not. I thought you were dead, Steve. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I'm sorry—” he tries, but Bucky holds up a hand. Steve snaps his mouth shut.

“Let me finish. I worry about you all the time. I’ve tried not to, you know. I’ve tried to tell myself that you can take care of yourself, that you’ll always come home even if you're a bit beat up. But after today . . . Steve, you were beat to hell and back.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall rapidly with the pace of his breathing. Grey-blue eyes meet Steve’s and Steve realises that it’s not anger in Bucky’s voice. It’s fear. “I was so scared, Steve, when I walked in here tonight. I thought I’d lost you and the last thing I’d said to you is that you’re a burden.” Steve tries to reach out to Bucky, but the older man flinches away. His voice is far off, now—gaze on Steve but seeing through him. “I was out of line earlier. When I said that. It’s not true. You’re my best friend. You always have been. And I’ll be here to help you as long as I can, but you have to help me out here. You have to take care of yourself, too. I know that you wouldn’t be you if you stopped standing up for people. You’re so good, Stevie. I wouldn’t want you any other way. But, just . . . maybe tone it down a bit? Please?” Bucky’s eyes finally focus on Steve who’s looking at him through half-closed eyes. He lets them fall shut and leans his head back onto the arm of the couch.

This had gone so much differently then he’d expected. He’d expected yelling and more angry words, but instead he’s gotten as close to an apology as he was going to get. Steve doesn’t know what to do with this information, but he knows he’s a burden. No matter what Bucky says, Steve knows that. And if it makes it easier on Bucky . . . well, he’s never been able to deny Bucky anything.

“Okay,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at his best friend. Bucky’s mouth falls open.

“Okay?” he asks, dumbfounded. Steve gives him a weak smile.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try to stay out of trouble.” He reaches his hand down to place it on Bucky’s knee. “I . . . I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I know I'm hard-headed and stubborn and I'm sorry that I scared you. I thought I could handle it earlier, but I was wrong. I . . . I was upset. I thought . . . I thought you were going to make me leave.” Bucky places his hand over Steve’s on his knee, leaning in close.

“I’d never make you leave, Stevie. Never.” Bucky’s totally serious, which never happens.

“If you . . . knew. If you knew, you’d hate me.” Steve knows this has to come out now. He knows that Bucky deserves to know. He’s terrified, but he can't live in denial anymore.

“Knew what, Steve?” Bucky asks, squeezing his hand. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.” Steve takes a deep breath.

“I'm . . . I'm queer, Bucky.” There. He’d said it. It felt so good to say that out loud—like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. Bucky’s just staring at him—not in disgust, just curiosity.

“I kind of . . . figured that out,” he says quietly. Steve gapes at him. “I like guys, too. Well, guys and girls. So I guess we’re on the same page.” He says the words so fast that Steve almost misses it.

“You . . . you do?” Steve asks, completely thrown. Bucky grins and sits up on his knees.

“Oh, Steve. You really don’t know?” Bucky’s still smiling when he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. It’s sweet and gentle and everything. It’s everything. Bucky pulls away just as quickly, brushing Steve’s hair out of his face. “I love you, punk. I have for . . . well, forever, I think.” Bucky’s still smiling as Steve surges up to kiss him again, this time tangling his hand into Bucky’s hair. It’s hungry and hot and sloppy, but it’s perfect.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s lips. “I love you, too.”

-

It’s Steve’s twentieth birthday when he and Bucky finally make love. Bucky’d taken the day off to spend it with Steve and they stay in bed until the late morning before getting up to make lunch. Bucky’d bought chicken and fresh vegetables for Steve’s birthday and Steve doesn’t ask where the money for that came from. He just watches Bucky move around in the kitchen, humming to himself. He feels warm on the inside every time Bucky looks over at him with that dopey half-smile plastered on his face.

Eventually, when the food is cooking, Steve ends up curled on the couch with Bucky sitting in front of him on the floor. The older man’s sitting with his back to Steve, head tipped back as Steve runs his hands through Bucky’s dark hair. Neither of them have shirts on—it’s too hot for that—so Bucky’s back is pressed to Steve’s front. Steve rakes his nails over Bucky’s scalp and the brunette lets out a low moan. It makes Steve shiver in anticipation, so he does it again. Bucky turns around so fast that Steve barely has time to keep himself from falling over.

But Bucky pulls Steve down into his lap and kisses him gently, cupping his face with one hand as the other wraps around Steve’s waist to pull him closer. Steve parts his lips to grant Bucky’s tongue entrance to his mouth, deepening the kiss. He tilts his head for a better angle, but he’s making it up as he goes. He’s never done this, but Bucky is patient and tender, allowing Steve to experiment and learn. Bucky is hardening quickly under Steve and he presses his hips down curiously, letting out a low moan at the feeling.

“Gonna be the death of me, Stevie,” Bucky mutters against his lips, pressing another kiss to his lips before kissing down his neck to suck a mark under Steve’s collarbone. Steve tips his head back and grinds down, hands threading into Bucky’s hair. The older man groans, recapturing Steve’s lips and biting his bottom lip gently.

“I want you,” Steve whispers. Bucky pulls back to look at him, mouth wet and a shocking shade of red. “Please.” Bucky grins and gets up, helping Steve to his feet. But as soon as they make it to their bed, Steve turns shy again. He knows Bucky’s seen him naked before—kind of hard not to when you share a room—but it’s never been like this. This is more intimate.

“C’mere,” Bucky murmurs, pulling Steve close and running a hand through his hair. Steve is about to reach for Bucky’s pants, but Bucky beats him to it. He undresses quickly and Steve can't help but stare at the flushed skin over hard muscle. Bucky is beautiful. Steve’s always known this, but now Bucky is hard and aroused and it’s Steve making him feel like this. Steve’s clothes hit the floor and Bucky pulls him backwards towards the bed.

“I’ve . . . I've never . . . with anyone,” Steve says when Bucky presses him down onto the sheets. The older man smiles and kisses him again.

“And you think I have?” Bucky teases, hands stroking up and down Steve’s sides. “So pretty, Stevie.” Steve scowls.

“Not a dame, Buck.” Bucky just laughs.

“But you are. Pretty, I mean. Just look at you.” And the way Bucky is looking at him—with desire and love in his eyes—makes Steve flush deep red, staining his pale skin. “You shy, Stevie?” Bucky asks, teasing again. Bucky reaches over Steve to grab the tub of Vaseline and slicks his fingers. “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby,” Bucky murmurs, more serious.

“I know you won't,” Steve whispers. Bucky drags his hand down Steve’s body before circling his hole slowly with one slicked finger.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks softly. “We don’t have to do this.” Steve reaches up to cup Bucky’s jaw and stroked his thumb over the tanned skin of Bucky’s cheekbone.

“I’m not sure of a lot of things,” Steve whispers, letting that hang between them for a few seconds. “But I've never been more sure about anything. I’m sure about you, Buck.” The brunette peers down at him and smiles—a blinding, toothy smile that takes Steve’s breath away.

“I’d say something about that being cheesy, but that’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Steve pushes up to kiss him, still smiling, and then lifts his hips in invitation.

“I want you, Buck,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back on the pillows. Bucky kisses Steve’s knee and pushes his finger in slowly. Steve winces. It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It feels strange, but Steve’s not in pain. So when Bucky glances up at him, Steve nods, and Bucky begins to move the finger gently inside of him. It’s intimate—more so than anything Steve’s ever experienced.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. Steve nods, at a loss for words. The strangeness has faded away into pleasure. “Ready for more?”

“ _Please_ ,” Steve breathes. He wants it all. With Bucky. Bucky glances up at his face one more time before adding another finger. It stings, but it’s not enough for Steve to be uncomfortable, so the brunette continues to slide his fingers in and out. Steve whines and pushes back, trying to take the digits deeper, but Bucky just smiles and places a hand on Steve’s hip to hold him down.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Bucky says, stroking soothing circles over the skin of Steve’s hip. He moves his hand over to stroke Steve’s cock as he adds a third finger—not fast enough for Steve to have any source of relief, but enough to serve as a distraction from the stretch. Bucky grins when Steve chokes back a moan. Bucky’s hit that spot inside of him—the spot that makes the edges of his vision go white and his toes curl.

“What—” Steve starts, but Bucky curls his fingers again and rubs against that place, reducing Steve to a writhing mess. “More,” he gasps out. “Please, Bucky. I need you in me.” Bucky removes his fingers gently and crawls up the bed to kiss Steve, settling between his open legs.

“You're sure?” Bucky asks one more time, looking into Steve’s eyes like he can see into his soul. Steve gives the older man a small smile and runs the pads of his fingers over the skin of Bucky’s cheek.

“I'm sure about you,” he whispers. “Everything else can wait.” Bucky returns his smile with a kiss and pushes in slowly, keeping Steve distracted with the beating and bruising of tongues as they kiss. Steve is gasping by the time Bucky bottoms out.

“I need you to breathe, baby,” Bucky murmurs, smoothing a hand down Steve’s side. “We’re not gonna do this unless you can control your breathing. I don’t want you to have an asthma attack.” Steve nods quickly, working to even his breathing out because if Bucky stops right now Steve thinks he might die. “Good, Stevie,” Bucky breathes. The praise ripples down Steve’s spine and settles in the pit of his stomach, warmth coiling there. “I’m gonna move, kay?” Steve nods and Bucky pulls out slowly only to thrust back in.

Steve moans a little too loud and turns to press his face into the pillow. He knows he has to be quiet, but it’s just too good. Being connected like this, being claimed . . . Steve wishes he could moan and scream and cry out but he can't. Bucky thrusts again, and his cock slides across that sweet spot, making Steve rake his nails down Bucky’s back and let out a whimper into the pillow.

“Harder,” he begs, needing to feel it. He can feel his climax approaching, but it’s just out of reach.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, smirking down at Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve pleads. “ _God_. Fuck me.” Bucky groans and slaps into him—hard. Everything is reduced to heat and scorching kisses and moans. The bed creaks quietly in rhythm with Bucky pounding into him.

“You gonna come, kitten?” Bucky asks, lips brushing Steve’s neck. Steve just lets out a low moan, unable to form words. Bucky grins and snakes a hand down to stroke Steve in time with his thrusts.

“Faster,” Steve says. “Please.” Bucky complies and all Steve can get out are moans of yes and Bucky and, “Fuck! Right there!” And then Steve is coming harder than he ever has before—gasping and shaking and digging his nails into Bucky’s shoulders. He forces his eyes to stay open, watching Bucky’s face as he thrusts three more times and comes. Bucky is a work of art in the midst of climax—eyes squeezed closed, lips parted, little groans escaping his throat. Steve tries to take it all in, but he’s still shaking in the throws of his orgasm.

“Shh,” Bucky croons, pushing Steve’s hair out of his face. Bucky pulls away and Steve lets out a whine. “Hush, baby. I’m just cleaning us up.” Steve opens his eyes to watch Bucky move around. He’s still naked and he’s the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever seen. Bucky washes Steve off and then checks him for tenderness and pain. Steve doesn’t lie when Bucky asks him if he’s okay.

“I’m sore, but I'm good,” he says, smiling stupidly at the brunette. “I love you.” Bucky kisses him softly and climbs into bed beside him. Steve nuzzles into Bucky’s neck and breathes deeply as Bucky brings the sheet around him. The older man pulls him close and kisses his forehead.

“I love you, too, Stevie.”

-

Steve is twenty-one when Bucky gets drafted. His numbers are up—there’s nothing either of them can do about it. Bucky’s last night home, he and Steve go out on a double date (to keep up appearances) to the Stark Expo. All Steve really wants is to get Bucky alone, to hold him and kiss him and memorise everything about him before he leaves. But they can't. Bucky has a reputation to uphold. They said their goodbyes earlier that day.

The last three years have been hard—hiding their relationship, Bucky going out with girls every week and leaving Steve at home. It hasn’t been easy, but this is the hardest obstacle they’re going to have to overcome.

Despite everything, Steve finds himself having fun at the Expo. They walk around all the exhibits and watch Howard Stark and his hovering car before slipping away from their dates to find a secluded place to say their final goodbyes. Bucky pulls Steve into a deserted ally. As soon as they’re out of the public eye, Steve clings to Bucky, trying to hold back his tears. Bucky holds him just as tightly and runs a hand up and down Steve’s back.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “It’ll be okay, Stevie. I’ll come back to you.” They both know that Bucky can't be certain of that, but they chose not to voice it—chose instead to believe in the fragile promise and to hold each other as long as possible.

When Bucky finally has to leave, he kisses Steve once, breathes an, I love you, into his neck, and untangles himself from Steve’s body. The brunette doesn’t look back.

-

Steve is twenty-three when he’s chosen for Project Rebirth. When he finally gets his chance to be in the army. When he goes to boot camp and meets Peggy Carter, the beautiful woman that he’s kind of terrified of. He doesn’t forget about Bucky—he still loves him, will always love him—but he can't deny that he’s attracted to Peggy, that he likes the way she looks at him.

-

Steve is twenty-four after the serum, after Erksine’s death, after all the USO tours and the theatrics, he finally hears the news about Bucky’s troop. As soon as he hears, his heart stops beating. He can't breathe, can't think, can't think anything other than he can't be dead, I have to save him, he can't be dead.

Peggy, bless her soul, gets Stark to help him. They get him as close as they can before dropping him, before Steve takes the HYDRA base by himself. Steve doesn’t even have enough of his brain under control to be afraid as he’s running through the camp, throwing his shield at people. He keeps things quiet, sneaking into the base the best he can until he gets down to where the prisoners are.

He doesn’t see Bucky. Bucky isn’t in the cell with the rest of them. He tries to ask, but they cut him off, asking him questions. He answers them impatiently, his brain screaming at him that something is wrong, that something really bad is happening to Bucky.

“I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes,” he says, trying to hold his voice steady.

“There's an isolation ward in the factory,” one of the men says. “No one's ever come back from it.” Steve’s heart stops. His body shuts down for a split second, time slowing down and the earth shaking with the force of Steve’s fear. But he can't break down now—he has to get to Bucky. So, body thrumming with energy, he unlocks all of the cells and gives the soldiers instructions on how to get out and where to meet him.

As soon as the last word is out of his mouth, he’s sprinting around the base to get to the isolation ward—to find Bucky. He gets past the guards easily and finds Bucky in a lab room buckled to a table. His breath catches in his throat. Not dead, not dead, he can't be dead. But then he hears the voice.

“Sergeant . . . 32557 . . .” Bucky mutters, eyes closed. He’s reciting his numbers? _Oh god, what have they done to you?_

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes, breathing the restraints with one hand. Bucky looks up at him with wide, unfocused eyes and Steve can't help the rush of relief that washed through him. Bucky is here and Bucky is alive and Steve is going to get Bucky the hell out of this place.

-

Steve is twenty-four when he kisses Bucky for the first time in years. After the escape, after Steve’d gotten Bucky out of that . . . that fucking hellhole, they’d gone back to base where Bucky’d gotten checked out and cleared of all physical injuries. But whatever the doctors said, Bucky is definitely not okay. He’s been distancing himself from Steve, barely speaking or even looking his way. Steve knows something’s up, and he’s determined to get Bucky to talk to him.

So he enlists Peggy’s help to clear his schedule for the night and goes to find Bucky. To Steve’s surprise, he’s already getting ready to sleep—in Steve’s private rooms, which is where Steve insisted he say. The brunette doesn’t even look up when Steve comes in the room, just continues changing into loose sweatpants, leaving his chest bare.

Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the expanse of Bucky’s chest—beautiful.

“Buck, we need to talk,” he says, working to keep his voice steady. Bucky grunts in affirmation and sits on the edge of his cot.

“What about?” Bucky asks without looking up. Steve’s standing awkwardly in the middle of the room and he has no clue what to do with his hands because he shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s just Bucky.

“I love you,” he blurts out, not thinking. Bucky’s head snaps up at that, but he still doesn’t say anything, so Steve continues. “I feel like I haven’t said it in forever, and I want you to know that it’s still true—that it’s the truest thing I've ever felt. And I don’t know what you went through, I can't imagine, but I love you and I'm here and you seem so far away and . . . I just want you back.” Steve moves as he speaks, kneeling in between Bucky’s legs. He fits a hand on Bucky’s calf, just under his knee, and squeezes. “I love you so fuckin’ much. And I don’t expect you to be okay, or to even feel the same way that we did before, but . . . I don’t like us not talking. I know you’re not okay, but I just want you to talk to me. So if you don’t want me, you can tell me, and I’ll back off because I know I'm not that same, but please. Please just talk to me.” And Bucky looks down at him while Steve waits with baited breath, waiting for an answer, a movement, anything. And then Bucky’s hand makes contact with Steve’s cheek gently—not quite a slap, but not soft enough to be a tap—and Bucky’s frowning.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky mumbles, still looking down at Steve.

“I know, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t expect you to want me like—” But Steve is quieted by Bucky’s lips on his, and even though Steve isn’t quite sure what’s going on, he’s not going to complain. Bucky is warm against him as Steve slides farther between Bucky’s legs to wrap his arm around the small of the brunet’s back, to tilt his head back to Bucky can deepen this kiss. But Steve’s forgotten to lock the door, and the fear of someone walking in makes him pull away to catch his breath even though he doesn’t move from his place on the floor.

“You’re a goddamn idiot if you think I wouldn’t want you, Rogers. Christ. Why would you ever think that?” And Steve doesn’t answer except to get up and lock the door before returning to his place on the floor and resting his head against Bucky’s inner thigh. Bucky runs his hand through Steve’s hair and Steve hums happily at the feeling of Bucky’s nails scratching gently against his scalp. “Get up here,” Bucky says, tugging gently at Steve’s hair. “C’mon, get up here.” Bucky stands and pulls Steve up only to lead them over to Steve’s bed—yes, bed, not cot—and pulls Steve down into his arms.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, needing Bucky to know. He needs Bucky like he needs air, even with this new body. He’s always needed Bucky and he always will need Bucky.

“Love you back, punk,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s neck. They may not fit together like they used to, but after a bit of maneuvering and switching positions so that Bucky’s back is to Steve’s front, they find that they still fit, but that it’s Steve keeping Bucky warm now. Neither of them has a problem with that.

-

Steve is twenty-four when he loses his best friend. Twenty-four when his heart is ripped from his chest and thrown into the frozen abyss of the Alps. He’s twenty-four when he loses his other half and in turn, loses his faith. Because how could God bring them back together only to rip them apart again? How could God, who is supposed to be loving and kind, give Steve his soulmate as his best friend, and then take it away?

So, Steve is twenty-four when he decides to put Valkyrie in the water. It’s for the good of the world, yeah, but Steve also doesn’t want to think about a way out. He doesn’t want a way out. He just wants to be with Bucky again, and if Bucky’s dead, Steve wants to be to.

Steve is twenty-four when he dies.

Except he doesn’t.

-

Steve is ninety-four years old when SHIELD unfreezes him. He goes through the motions, leading the Avengers and being Captain America when inside, he’s hollow. He’s empty and alone and there a hole in his chest where his heart used to be and he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to live, he was supposed to die. He was supposed to die and he didn’t and now he’s here playing Captain America for the second time in his life.

He knows he’s doing what’s right. He’s always done what’s right. But there’s too much to get used to. Technology, for one. He’s been given a cellular phone—just this small metal-and-glass rectangle that fits in his pocket and can do more in two seconds than he could do in a day back in the ‘30’s. It's confusing at first, but with Natasha's help and Tony's constant teasing, Steve gets the hang of texting.

Of course, he's not getting very much time to learn these things. Between alien attacks and learning HYDRA has taken over S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve doesn't have much time for anything, much less time to learn the nuances of the 21st century. That being said, he has become pretty close with his team. He spends almost all of his time with them--especially Natasha. And when he's not mad at her, they get along great. And he's only mad at her when Fury gives them double missions and doesn't tell him about it.

So yeah, Natasha is great. And Sam is great. And when he finally starts to recover from the gaping hole in his chest, he sees him.

Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier. The Asset. But whatever they call him, he'll always be Bucky to Steve. So when Sam says those words, he's not the kind you save, it stings. And Steve makes it his mission to bring Bucky back.

-

Steve is ninety-five when they find him. He and Sam have been chasing Bucky all over the world, and they find him in the last place Steve would've thought to look: Brooklyn. Steve is out one night getting dinner at a diner after a hard mission when he sees a figure in the corner booth. He doesn't think much of it until said figure gets up and joins Steve at his booth. And low and behold, it's Bucky.

Steve bites his lip to keep the word in, terrified that anything he says will scare Bucky off. So he eats his food and stays quiet, letting Bucky decide when to speak. The brunet isn't eating, just staring at Steve, eyes flicking to the door every few minutes like he expects an attack any minute. Which, to be fair, is a rational reaction to everything that's happened it him.

Steve just wants to tell him it's okay. That Steve will protect him. That he loves him. But he can't. He can't say the words because what if Bucky doesn't remember? What if Bucky is still wired to kill him? But, if Bucky wanted to kill Steve, he could've done it from a mile away outside without being spotted. He could've done it when Steve first walked in or when he came over to sit down. So Steve doesn't think the brunet is here to finish his mission. No, he must be here to get answers.

Steve jumps when Bucky finally speaks.

"Why did you come after me?" The brunet asks quietly. And yes, that's Bucky's voice. And when Steve looked up, it's Bucky's face and Bucky's eyes but the tone of voice is off. Flat, dead, and with no emotion. Steve takes a breath and swallows the food in his mouth before replying.

"Because you're my friend," he says cautiously, not wanting to say anything that might make Bucky leave. The brunet ponders that for a moment, tilting his head to the side and staring at Steve.

"I'm your friend," he repeats, like its a question. "I was your friend." Steve bites his lip and shuffles his feet, trying to come up with an answer.

"You still are my friend," he murmurs. "You'll always be my friend. My best friend." The waitress comes back to their table and takes Steve's plate.

"Can I get you boys anything else?" she asks. Bucky tenses up, but Steve answers for them both.

"No, I think we're good. Thanks, Dianne." Steve hands her a twenty and tells her to keep the change and she leaves. As soon as she's gone, Bucky relaxes.

"You come here often," he says, no question in his voice. Steve nods, leaning back and resting his head against the cool wood of the booth. "You're tired," Bucky says in the same flat voice.

"It's almost two am Buck, of course I'm tired." Something flickers across the older man's face, but it's gone too quickly for Steve to decipher it.

"You should go home," the brunet whispers. "Get some sleep. You had a hard week." And yeah, that's true. The Avengers had been exterminating lizard-things from LA all week. And not that it was that big of a deal, but Steve had gotten caught under a crumbling building and six feet of concrete until Tony had dug him out. Needless to say, Steve isn't feeling too hot. What, with his broken ribs and battered body.

"Will you come with me?" Steve asks, trying to control the plea in his voice. If Bucky says no, Steve won't force him to come. But if he says yes . . . nothing would make Steve happier. Bucky just looks at him for a long time, metal fingers drumming on the table. After a long time, the older man sighs and slides out of the booth, holding a hand out toward Steve.

"Someone's gotta look after your punk ass," he says quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Steve lights up inside at the old nickname and takes Bucky's flesh and blood hand, allowing Bucky to lead him out onto the street and back to his apartment. Of course Bucky knows where he lives. Steve's gathered that while he and Sam were looking for Bucky, Bucky was following them. Watching, waiting for the best time to intervene and get his answers. Steve is guessing that Bucky has his memories, but he's not sure how much Bucky remembers. He feels like if he's the one to tell Bucky that they were together, the older man won't believe him.

So he stays quiet and makes up the couch so that he can give Bucky the bed. Because of course they won't share the bed. Bucky is too skittish for that. And he looks like he hasn't slept in days. So of course Steve will give him the bed. He can bare the couch for Bucky. He'd do anything to make the man stay.

But Bucky isn't having it.

"I ain't gonna steal your bed, Steve," he says when Steve goes to usher him into the bedroom. Steve realises this is the first time Bucky's said his name since the war. "I'm already staying in your apartment, I can sleep on the couch." And it hits Steve that Bucky plans on staying, which is a big move, so Steve doesn't push the sleeping arrangements.

"Do you want something to drink? Did you eat earlier?" He just can't help the worry that swells in his chest when he sees how thin his best friend is. Bucky is silent for a long time before he shakes his head once and sits down. Disappointment lodges itself in Steve's chest. He doesn't know what he was expecting. Maybe for Bucky to miraculously be himself. But no matter how much Bucky remembers, he still has a long way to go in recovery.

So Steve leaves it, going into the bedroom to shower. Before he closes the door, he peers back at his best friend.

"If you need anything, I leave the door unlocked," he whispers, knowing Bucky will hear him. He doesn't get a response, which he expected, so he closes the door. Instead of going straight to sleep like he's planned, Steve goes into the bathroom to take a shower. He feels gross and grimy from the day's mission with the Avengers: taking out some alien lizards that were trying to destroy Manhattan.

Under the warm spray of the water, Steve tries to understand what's going on. Bucky obviously remembers some things, enough to seek him out and feel safe staying in Steve's apartment, but to what extent his memory stretches, Steve doesn't know. He wants so badly to ask, but he wants Bucky to stay. And he's afraid that if he asks too many questions, Bucky will leave.

So he gets out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He brushes his teeth and runs a hand through his hair before taking in his appearance in the mirror. He has bruises over his right ribs and clavicle and there's broken and bruised skin over his left side, but his other wounds have healed already. He's found that while the serum heals wounds quickly, bruises can last for up to twenty-four hours before healing completely. They'll most likely be gone in the morning, but in the moment, it hurts like a bitch. So Steve grabs his ointment, courtesy of Tony, and goes into the bedroom to finish getting ready for bed.

Only Bucky is sitting on his bed.

"I need to know that what's in my head is real," he whispers, not looking up.

"Okay," Steve says, going over to his dresser to pull out some track pants. "You mind if I . . .?" The brunet lets out something that might pass for a laugh.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, I think," Bucky says. But he does look away when Steve drops the towel and pulls on his briefs and pants. "Can I ask you some questions?" the older man asks.

"Of course, Buck," Steve murmurs. "Can I sit?" Bucky moves over to make room and Steve sits beside him.

"We were friends?" Bucky asks, still not looking up.

"Best friends. Since I was six. You were seven." Steve looks down at his hands and Bucky nods.

"We used to fuck," he says next, not a question.

"Yes."

"What was I to you?" And Steve is beginning to think this is more of an interrogation, so he chooses his words carefully.

"You're my best friend," he whispers. Bucky clenches and unclenches his metal hand, but the frustration doesn't spread to any other part of his body.

"And I loved you?" Bucky finally meets his eyes and Steve's heard breaks. Loved. Past tense.

"Yes." The word comes out broken, but he doesn't care.

"Okay." And Bucky gets up and exits the room, leaving Steve feeling hollow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update to get y'all through. I have an over 50 hour work week coming up so I won't have much time to write, so I figured I'd put up what I have.

When Steve was sixteen, he and Bucky had made a promise.

"Promise we'll be friends forever," Bucky'd said one night. They were curled up in the same bed at the orphanage because Bucky had noticed Steve's shivering. And the thought of not having Bucky around, of losing his best friend, had never occurred to Steve. And since Steve could never deny Bucky anything, he'd agreed.

"Of course, Buck," he'd whispered back. "Where would you be without me around to keep you out of trouble, anyway?" And Bucky'd laughed, and that'd warmed Steve to the core.

-

When Steve was twenty-one, they'd made another promise.

"Promise you'll love me no matter what," Bucky'd pleaded. Steve knew Bucky was talking about the draft.

"Of course," Steve'd said, getting up from his place at the table to sit next to Bucky on the couch. "Nothing will ever make me stop loving you." And then Steve'd kissed him, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before whispering, "I promise."

-

Steve is turning ninety-six today. Twenty-six if Tony's feeling generous. It's the Fourth of July and the team has apparently planned something for later that night, but everyone is keeping Steve out of the loop.

He hates parties. He's told Natasha and Tony this, but neither of them have listened.

So is it bad that he's happy when Fury sends him and Natasha to clear a newly-found HYDRA base? Steve doesn't think so. He's hoping he can get out of his party.

"You're not getting out of it," Natasha says in the car, like she can read his mind. They're on their way to upstate New York and he's driving. No way he was letting Natasha drive--she drives like a maniac.

"I've told you a million times that I hate parties," Steve whines, throwing her his best puppy-dog look. She just rolls her eyes.

"That look doesn't work on me, Rogers." She smiles when he scowls.

"Fuck you, Nat."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm taken." He steals a glance at her to see the small smile on her face.

"How's that going, by the way?" She and Sam had gotten together shortly after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. They seem happy, and Steve is happy for him. Even if he's a bit bitter about his own relationship.

"You know me, I don't kiss and tell." She smirks over at him and Steve sighs, pulling off the road. They're here.

The building is innocuous enough--steel and concrete. It must've been an old factory. Very old. But Steve knows better than to judge the HYDRA bases by their outsides. Grabbing his shield from the back, he gets out of the car and pulls off the shirt covering his suit. He sees Natasha shrug off her hoodie, and they're ready to go.

"So what's the plan here?" she asks, glancing over at him as they approach the building.

"Fury said it was just a bunch of techs, no real threats. I'll go in the front, make a distraction for you to go in the back and delete the hard drives. Then you get out. I'll be close behind you." He looks over at her, giving her his most disapproving look. "No double missions, Nat. In and out and done." She smirks at him and takes off running.

"Yes, sir, Captain America, sir." Steve rolls his eyes and jogs right up to the front door. There are no guards, which is either really good or really bad, so he walks right in. Backing up against the wall, he peers down the hallway before proceeding. There's no one there. "I'm in," Natasha says over the comm.

"I don't like this," Steve says back, making his way down the hall. He has a bad feeling deep in his gut. "It's too quiet. There were no alarms." There's a light on in one of the upcoming rooms. "Status?" he asks.

"In position," she replies, and Steve bursts into the room. But there's no one there. It clicks in his mind and he's running to find Natasha.

"It's a trap!" he yells over the comm. "We have to get out. Now." He makes it down another hall and into the control room where Natasha is deleting files so fast that her fingers are a blur. "Nat what are you doing? We have to go!" She looks over at him.

"Relax. There's real information on here that I have to get rid of. We'll be fine." Steve huffs a sigh and starts to pace. He doesn't hear any movement, but that doesn't mean anything. The tap, tap, tap of the keyboard is starting to get on his nerves.

"Cap you've gotta get out of there," Tony says over the comm. "It's rigged to explode. We're on our way to you." Steve looks at Natasha, eyes wide.

"Done!" she says, making her way toward him. But the building shakes. Something above them explodes and dust rains down from the ceiling. "Shit."

"Damn right," Steve mutters, leading her back down the hall. "Go. Get out. I'll be right behind you." Natasha throws him a look. "Fury said there's files here on what they did to Bucky. I need those files." She nods.

"If you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming back in." She races off and Steve starts kicking down doors and checking rooms. There's got to be a room specifically for paper files, right? But of course it can't be that easy. And Steve has approximately three minutes left to get out. But if the files will help Bucky remember, Steve isn't going to leave until he finds them. He owes his best friend that much.

"Cap, get out of there!" Tony yells through the comm. "Now!"

"I've got to find these files, Tony," he grits out, running full speed and checking rooms as he goes.

"Try the last door on the left." He does as Tony says, and sure enough, file cabinets. He searches under Barnes first before remembering that that's not what they called him. Heart in his chest, he searches under "the Asset" and finds the file quickly.

"Got it!" he cries, turning around and heading toward the exit.

"That building is coming down in thirty seconds," Tony supplies. "How close are you to getting out?" Steve's heart sinks.

"Not close enough." He's not going to make it. The building starts to shake and there's an explosion somewhere to his left.

"Steve!" Natasha yells over the comm.

"Stay where you are, Romanoff! That's an order." Steve can't let anyone else get hurt. He can't. This is his responsibility. Chunks of concrete are raining down and Steve has maybe ten seconds. He can see the door, but something sharp hits his shoulder and he stumbles, falling to the ground.

"Take cover!" Tony calls. "We're on our way." Steve pulls his shield out and covers his head, crouching against a wall. He strains to keep the concrete from flattening him, but he's getting boxed in. His breathing accelerated and he coughs when dust enters his lungs. More and more debris rains down onto his shield and he's sure that this is it. That this is how he's going to die.

And maybe he deserves it—being buried alive. A slow death, quietly suffocating in the darkness. Maybe he deserves that for what he let happen to Bucky. Sam will take care of Bucky, Steve believes that. With Steve gone, maybe Bucky has a real chance of recovery. Maybe things will be easier.

Steve loses his grip on his shield and lurches sideways, still covering his head and neck. He feels ribs crack as the concrete and steel slabs close in, pushing him down and down until all he can feel is pain. _I love you_ , he thinks. _I love you, Bucky._

-

When Steve was twenty, he’d gotten really sick. Sicker than he’d ever been. It’d been pneumonia—nothing he hadn't had before—and he hadn't thought much of it. The chills and sweating were normal, but then fluid started building up in his lungs. He’d propped himself up like he always did when this happened, but it was bad this time, he could feel it. He’d needed help and Bucky hadn't been home.

That night Steve had felt, for the first time, what it was like to die. Sure there had been some close calls before, but none like that. If Bucky hadn't come home and gotten him in some cold water right when he did, Steve would’ve died.

As it turns out, he’d been so close to death that Bucky’d called in a priest to do Steve’s last rights. That was the worst thing—that Bucky had felt that necessary. But Steve had heard Bucky’s pleas. _Stevie you can't leave me. Please. Please don’t leave. I love you. don’t you leave me, Steve_. And he’d found it in himself to hold on.

After that, if Bucky’d held him a little closer, a little tighter, neither of them had said anything.

-

Steve turns twenty-six today. There was supposed to be a party and presents and his friends and Bucky, but Steve is now trapped under God knows how many pounds of concrete and steel. His leg is most definitely broken, along with three of his ribs, two fingers, and he can feel the bones popping painfully back into place. His shield is basically pressed to his face, still covering his head a neck, but his body is bent at such a weird angle that he can't even wiggle his arm enough to get a good grip on his surroundings. He doesn’t know how bad it is or how deep in the debris he is, but he knows he’s not getting out any time soon.

He coughs harshly, entire body shaking with the force of his lungs trying to expel the dust. There’s caked blood on his face and fresh blood running into his eyes. He can't see much, but there’s a dim light filtering in from between the slabs of concrete. Steve’s eyes rake over the little space he’s trapped in, taking in as much as he can without moving and it doesn’t look good. There’s no room for him to move, much less dig himself out and he’s not sure what to do.

Belatedly, he remembers Natasha. _Did she get out? Is she okay? Did she come back in after me?_

“Barnes, you can't just—” and then Steve’s little space shudders slightly. Tony. And . . . Bucky? They’re here? God does Steve’s head hurt. He blinks blood out of his eyes, jaw working to speak. “We have to figure out what pieces we can move before you go throwing shit around!” Tony exclaims. They sound far away—far, far above him.

“I can't just leave him down there, Stark!” Bucky’s voice comes, edged with panic. Bucky. Bucky’d come. He’d come with Tony. He’s here.

“Give Jarvis time to scan the rubble, Robocop,” Tony says, voice steely. Steve flinches at that tone, but he still can't make his voice work. If he could just let them know he’s alive . . . that he’s down here and that he’s okay . . .

“I _can't_ —”

“We’ll find him, Barnes,” Tony says gently. Their voices are getting farther away, like they’re moving. _No_ , Steve thinks. _Don’t leave me here._ It’s like he’s hearing them through water. His head swims and he fights to stay conscious, knowing that if he passes out again, he could suffocate down here before they found him. He coughs again—loudly—trying to wet his mouth enough and get enough breath into his lungs to shout. The footsteps above him stop.

“Here,” he tries to yell, but it comes out as a scratchy version of his normal speaking voice. It’s better than nothing, Steve thinks, closing his eyes against the pain in his chest and head. He can't feel much in his legs anymore; he knows that’s bad. But anything that doesn’t hurt feels good so he tries to ignore it. Steve hears the footsteps come closer and them someone landing above him—only a few feet of debris above him.

“Steve?” Bucky calls, voice worry-laden. It breaks Steve’s heart to hear his best friend sound like that. He can't . . . he can't. Bucky’s been doing well. As well as they could have expected. He goes to see a therapist every other day and he’s been speaking with Sam and Clint more than he has with Steve. He’s only been back two months, but he’s been doing so well. Bucky’s still been staying with Steve and sometimes Steve wakes up to see Bucky in his room.

Those nights go one of two ways: the super assassin climbing into bed with Steve, or asking Steve to confirm another memory. Sometimes both. Sometimes Bucky has nightmares. Terrible nightmares that cause Steve to have to wake him up. And sometimes that doesn’t turn out so well for Steve. He’s gotten a few broken bones as well as a few knives in different places of his body. Those nights are the worst—the nights where Bucky wakes up ashamed and terrified and locks himself away in his room or the bathroom only to emerge the next morning and avoid Steve completely.

But even with all of that, he’s been doing so well and to hear his voice with that heavy, worried tone . . . it just breaks Steve’s heart. He sounds like he used to when Steve was small and would get into fights. He sounds like the boy before the man was born. He sounds afraid and Bucky Barnes should never have to be afraid again. Especially for Steve. Bucky should never have to be afraid for Steve because Steve can take care of himself now, right? Steve can look out for both of them. Which is what he’d been trying to do—look out for Bucky. Get those files so that Bucky could have a better grasp on what had happened to him. But those files are probably lost now and Steve is trapped under hundreds of pounds of HYDRA base and Bucky is afraid.

“Steve?” Bucky asks again, louder this time. His voice sounds closer, right on top of Steve, really. And there’s enough weight that it dislodges a bit of metal that comes crashing down to land on Steve’s shield with a dull clang. Steve groans at the additional weight. “Steve!” Bucky cries. Steve sighs in relief. Bucky knows he’s here. “Stark, he’s over here!” There’s a small commotion, but Steve isn’t really paying attention. He’s so tired. _Stay awake, Rogers_ , Steve tells himself. He knows how head injuries work—that if he goes to sleep now, he may not wake up. He has to stay awake. For Bucky.

“Alright everyone,” Tony says. “Out of the way.” There’s a scrambling of boots and then the weight on his shield starts getting lighter. “Easy,” Tony instructs. He must have Bucky helping him move things out of the way. “We’re gonna get you out of there, Cap,” Tony calls out reassuringly. “Just hang on.” Light floods into the little space he’s in and he feels the weight literally being lifted off of his shoulders. Dust gets kicked up again and trapped in his lungs, making him cough viciously, but he doesn’t care. He’s almost out. He’s almost free.

“Stevie?” Bucky asks, jumping down into the little hole he and Tony had created. Steve’s legs are still trapped, but Steve can see Tony working on that around Bucky’s shadow blocking his view. “Steve? Can you hear me?” Steve lifts his eyes to find the brunet’s.

“Buck,” he whispers, closing his eyes again. All he wants to do is sleep. Steve feels Bucky tug the shield out of Steve’s grasp and then the weight on his legs is gone and he’s being lifted.

“Don’t give me shit about lifting you, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, climbing out of the hole. Steve smiles softly at that, turning his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Never, Buck,” Steve replies, voice raspy.

“I got him, Stark,” Bucky says, and Steve feels the rush of wind as Tony soars past them.

“Let’s get him on the jet ASAP,” Tony directs. “He’s going to need fluids and medical attention as soon as possible. I’ll let Natasha know.” _Natasha is okay. Good_. And Steve relaxes. He doesn’t realised how cold he was until he feels the warmth radiating off of Bucky’d body. He’s shivering now, but it’s okay because Bucky’s got him. Bucky has him and he’s going to be okay because Bucky always takes care of him. So he allows his eyes to close, allows his head to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve Rogers allows himself to sleep because he knows that Bucky Barnes will be there when he wakes up.

-

Steve is twenty-six when he wakes up in the tower. There’s a muted beeping in the background that’s starting to get on his nerves and he can feel the cool metal of needles sticking into his skin. Needles. He’s told his team enough that he hates needles, so he must’ve been so bad that they’d had no other choice. He asses his injuries to himself—broken ribs (mostly healed), broken leg (healing), four broken fingers (healed), internal injuries that he can't quite place (healing), and multiple bruises, gashes, and probably quite a few strained muscles. Not as bad as it could’ve been.

When he finally opens his eyes, he finds he’s not alone. Natasha is in the chair by his bed—yes, his bed, in his room—cleaning her guns. Bucky is next to him in the bed reading. Wait. _Bucky is next to him in the bed reading._ He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath.

“So am I getting a lecture, or . . .?” he breathes, voice still raspy from the dust. Bucky jerks, causing the entire bed to jerk with him. Not very super-soldier-assassin of you, Steve thinks to himself. Steve opens his eyes again to see Natasha leaving the room quietly. She turns when she gets to the doorway, one hand on the doorjamb, and nods at him. He nods back, glad to see that she’s unhurt. That’s one less weight on his shoulders. No one got hurt but him.

Bucky hands him a glass of water from the nightstand, not saying a word. He won't even look Steve in the eye. Well, Steve thinks, at least he’s here. At least he hasn’t run. Steve drinks some of the water before getting completely annoyed with his limited range of motion due to the needles. He yanks them out and switches off the heart monitor, taking the contraption off of his finger.

“You can't just—” Bucky says, hands flailing like he wants to shove the needles back in.

“Oh, I can just,” Steve replies. “And I did.” He looks over at Bucky, lifting his chin in a challenge. His best friend glares at him for a moment before giving him a small smile.

“You never did like doing what was good for you, huh?” Bucky rolls his eyes and sets aside what he’d been reading. The file. The file from the HYDRA base. They’d gotten it. So it wasn’t all for nothing. Good.

“I guess you do this a lot, huh?” Bucky asks quietly. Steve looks up at him, taking in his expression. He’s frowning, and he’s got that familiar glint in his eyes that means he’s pissed off. “Judging by the overwhelming anger I'm feeling right now,” he tacks on. Steve can't help his smile—he really tries, but no dice.

“You could say that.” Steve’s smile vanishes quickly though because Bucky flexes his metal hand and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Do I even need to give a lecture?”

“Wouldn’t do any good.” And he’s being honest. Steve did what he did for Bucky and he’d do it again. Bucky sighs and leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes. This is good, though. If Bucky can remember Steve being stupid and reckless, that means he remembers other things, right?

“Next time you decide to be stupid, I expect you to let me be there,” he says quietly, not opening his eyes. “Someone has to take care of you and it may as well be me. It seems that it’s in my job description.” And Steve isn’t sure whether he should be happy or incredibly sad. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do—or say—so he does nothing and keeps his mouth shut. He still aches everywhere, so he lets himself relax into the mattress and close his eyes again.

When what he really wants to do is ask how much Bucky remembers. _Do you remember when we met and you stopped those guys from beating me up? Do you remember when you kissed me? Do you remember the first time we made love? Do you remember us? Do you remember me? Do you know who you are? Do you remember who we are to each other? Do you still feel the same way?_ But of course he can't ask any of that. Well, he could, but at this point it would probably be counter-productive. Bucky seems as if he’s done enough talking for one night, and it’s monumental progress from where they left off.

Steve isn’t sure what Bucky’s said to the others—Clint and Sam and Natasha. He’s spent time with all of them, always when Steve wasn’t around. Steve wants to ask them, but he doesn’t want Bucky to feel like he can't confide in other people without Steve being in the middle of everything. He doesn’t want to force himself onto his best friend. No matter how much it kills him, Steve is resolved to give Bucky the freedom of making his own choices, no matter how much or little he remembers. Bucky deserves that much. He deserves everything, but Steve isn’t sure how strong he’s going to be able to be. Steve wants to give Bucky everything—freedom, love, devotion . . . but those things don’t go hand in hand unless Bucky wants them to. Steve will keep his distance if he has to. He’ll let Bucky alone to have his own life if he doesn’t want Steve in it.

If that’s what Bucky wants, he’ll do it. He’d do anything.

“You should rest some more, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, and Steve warms under the familiar nickname. Steve settles down and curls up on his side, facing Bucky. “C’mere,” Bucky murmurs, opening his harms, inviting. Oh. _Oh._ And Steve isn’t going to turn that down. So he scoots closer as carefully as he can and gets comfortable with his head against Bucky’s chest. He can't help but to bring a hand to rest over Bucky’s heart. A part of Steve just really needs to feel that heartbeat again to make sure that he’s not hallucinating this.

“This okay?” Steve asks cautiously. Bucky wraps his arm over Steve’s shoulder and rests his metal hand over Steve’s.

“Yeah,” he murmurs shakily. “Yeah, this is perfect.” And Steve swears that as he drifts off, he feels Bucky’s lips press to his forehead.

-

Steve is twenty-six and he wakes up alone, Bucky Barnes nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, their happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, left kudos, and helped me through this fic. It's my baby and I'm so proud of it, so I hope you enjoy the ending because I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Also, shoutout to StarSpangledBucky for helping me figure out the ending. You rock, Zoe.

Steve is a twenty-six year old idiot.

Here he is thinking Bucky'd left him when with further search, he'd found Bucky leaning against the wall looking out the window in the main room of the floor. Maybe he needs to deal with his abandonment issues, but fuck that because right now Bucky is bathed in golden sunlight wearing tight-fitting back jeans and one of Steve's blue button-downs. He looks like he's just showered, and he's smiling softly with his eyes closed, just basking in the sunlight. It takes Steve's breath away.

He’s never going to get over seeing Bucky. It’s like every time is the first time. Every time, Steve’s breath falters and his heart speeds up. Is that what love is? When you see someone and you feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs and your heart slams against your chest at the mere _sight_ of someone? Maybe it’s just Bucky—beautiful and broken and put back together by sheer force of will. Maybe it’s Steve—so desperate for any kind of contact with his long-lost friend. Either way, Steve is whole-heartedly in love with this man. He never stopped. 

"You gonna announce your presence or just watch me stand here all day?" Bucky asks, not opening his eyes. Steve jumps at the sudden question and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Uh . . . sorry," he stammers out, mentally kicking himself. _You can't just stare at him, Rogers. It’s not like he didn’t hear you come in. Creepy._ "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Bucky interrupts, pushing off the wall and opening his eyes. "Sun's almost down anyway." He once-overs Steve and then meets his eyes. "How're you feeling?" That's a good question. Steve doesn't know, so he says so. That puts a troubled look on Bucky's face, but the brunet doesn't say anything.

"I feel better than I did, though," Steve supplies, trying to get that frown off his best friend's face. Bucky's expression softens, but he doesn't smile. 

"You should sit. I'll order takeout." Bucky takes Stevens elbow and steers him to the couch where he stares at Steve until he sits down. It's so much like Bucky that it makes Steve's heart hurt. He's sure his friend is in there, but Bucky will reveal it when he's ready.

Steve can hear Bucky on the phone, but he lets himself doze a bit. He really is still tired, and being injured is a good excuse to take it easy. But then cool metal is lifting his feet and the couch indents and Steve opens his eyes to see Bucky dropping his feet into his lap and _God_. It all just feels so normal. Bucky's flesh hand is tracing patters on the top of Steve's left foot and it kind of tickles, but Steve sure as he'll isn't going to tell him to stop because _Bucky is touching him_. Bucky is touching him again and Steve is so goddamn selfish that he wants more.

"I don't know who I am," Bucky says softly. Steve's heart tightens, but he doesn't move, because if he does, Bucky might stop talking. "I'm not who I was in the 30's, I'm not who I was in the 40's . . . I'm some hybrid of the guy you knew and the monster they made me." Steve reaches down and takes Bucky's metal hand that's resting on his knee. 

"Buck—"

"I'm not who I was," the brunet continues, as if Steve hadn't spoken. "I have all of these things in my head—memories, maybe—but they're too good to be true. I was loved and cared for and protected and strong. I loved and cared for and protected and lent strength. I was . . . good." There's a pause, and Steve tries to take this in. This is the most Bucky's spoken to him since that night at the diner. It's the best insight into his head that Steve's gotten at all. “I’m not good anymore. Not with everything I’ve done. Not with how many people I’ve murdered. And that’s what it was—murder. They may have been bad people anyway, but there were a few families. There were _children_. And I just did as I was told. I was too scared . . . to _terrified_ of what they’d do to me if I didn’t. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t say no. Not after so many years of defying them and enduring the repercussions. I tried, I tried so hard to cling to who I was. I remember that. They tried to burn me out of my head, but I held on for so many years. I don’t know who I am.” And the words are a plea. _Tell me who I am, tell me who I was, tell me I'm really out, tell me this is real, that you're here and I'm here and we’re together and you won't send me back there, don’t send me back there._

"You're my best friend, Buck," Steve says without opening his eyes. "You've taken care of me for forever. You held my hand and got my medicine and killed yourself working so that we could scrape by. You gave up everything for me. You loved me with your whole heart and then some and I loved you the same way. Still do. What they forced you to do changes nothing. It doesn't change who you are and it sure as hell doesn't change the way I feel about you." Steve takes a deep breath to keep the tears from falling. "You can't hold yourself responsible for the things they made you do. You can't blame yourself for that—for being afraid. I'm afraid every day. Every single fucking day, I'm terrified that you’ll leave, that you’ll wake up and hate me. Hate me for everything that I put you through when we were young. You were always too good to me—too gracious, too good.” The words are literally just falling out of his mouth. He feels like he can't stop them. It’s been so long. “You're my best friend. And you _are_ good. You saved my life when you barely remembered who I was. You came after me at that HYDRA base when I know that's the last place you wanted to be. You _are_ good. And you love and you care. And I know you. _I know you._ " Steve's taking deep breaths now, trying to calm himself down. But he has to make Bucky understand. To make him _see_. That nothing's changed. That he may be different, but Steve's different, too. They're not those two kids from Brooklyn who fell in love anymore. They're both forever changed by science and war and blood and gun powder. But Steve loves Bucky as much as he did back then, maybe even more. 

"I need you to prove it," Bucky whispers. Steve opens his eyes and looks over at him, confused. "I need you to prove it. _Prove it_ —prove you’re my friend, prove I was who you say I am, prove I’m anything but the gunmetal in my mouth and the slaughter to my name. Prove that I deserve to be loved, that I have any love to give. Because I know you, and when I look at you, I see the way you love me. I see the way you want me to love you. And I do. Want that. I want to love you. But . . ." And Steve can't take it anymore, so he sits up with a throaty groan of pain. Bucky looks over at him sharply, but Steve holds his hand up. 

"Wait," he says. And Bucky does. So Steve lifts his hands to the chain around his neck and pulls off the tags—

_James Barnes_

_32557891_

—and presses them into Bucky's open palm. The older man just stares down blankly for a long time, like he can't process what he's seeing. Steve isn't sure if he'll grasp how much those tags mean—that Steve's only possessions when he came out of the ice were those tags and his shield—but he's hoping. Always hoping. Because Steve isn’t sure that Bucky realises how real his memories are. How _important_ he is. And if he does, his face isn’t giving anything away. Steve desperately needs him to say something—anything right now would be good. But there’s a knock at the door and he gets up quickly to answer it, tags still in his hand.

Steve feels naked without the tags. They’re his only possession from Bucky—the only thing that came out of the ice with him that belonged to his lover, his best friend. He immediately wants them back, wants them back around his neck and over his heart where they should be, but they _do_ belong to Bucky. And if he wants them back, then that’s what Steve will give him.

The brunet comes back into the room bringing the Chinese takeout bags and drops them on the coffee table. It’s silent for a long time, and Steve can see Bucky rubbing his thumb over the dog tags that are still in his hand.

“So what’s in my head is real,” he says, no question in his voice. “The reason I haven’t . . . I just wasn’t sure. I know you told me . . . but I just didn’t want to . . . it’s just, you’ve helped so much. You’ve put your life on hold to help me. And . . . I never told you thank you.” Steve sighs and stands. Bucky takes a step back, but Steve takes a step forward. He cups Bucky’s jaw, running his thumb over the brunet’s cheekbone.

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck,” Steve whispers. The older man looks up at Steve through his lashes.

“Should’ve said I love you,” he whispers, and Steve can't hold it back anymore. He leans forward and kisses Bucky hard. His hand moves from Bucky’s jaw to the back of his head, fingers threaded into that long, dark hair. And then Bucky’s arms are wrapping around Steve’s waist and he’s kissing Steve back just as hard, just as hungrily. “I know who I am now,” Bucky breathes into Steve’s mouth. “Yours.” And then Bucky pulls away only to put that chain back around Steve’s neck. “Those belong to you, just like me. Always have, always will.” And when Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes, he sees no uncertainty. 

“I love you,” Steve tells him. Bucky kisses him once more, nothing more than a brush of lips.

“I love you too, stupid.”

-

They eat their dinner in companionable silence, Bucky making sarcastic remarks about _just how much can you eat, Rogers?_ But Steve is grateful for it. He doesn’t even tease back. It feels so wonderful to have Bucky’s thigh pressed up against his, to have Bucky lean against him as Steve polishes off the last box of orange chicken, that Steve doesn’t say a word. The silence is beautiful and Steve loves the man next to him and now he can voice that as much as he wants because Bucky remembers and still feels the same.

“So I have a bit of a surprise for you,” Bucky says when Steve’s finished. “If you’re up for it.” And Steve groans. He knows where this is going. “They worked so hard on it, Stevie!” Bucky protests. “And everyone has gifts and everyone is here for you. If we go now, we can make it before the fireworks.” And since Steve’s never been able to deny Bucky anything, he acquiesces and goes with the brunet to the main floor of the tower.

Bucky is texting furiously on the way down, probably to Natasha to tell them to get everything ready, and Steve is too happy to remember how much he hates parties. So when the elevator doors open and he’s bombarded with glitter and confetti, he just grins through it, catching Bucky’s smile out of the corner of his eye. 

The party is really insignificant to Steve. Natasha got him a red Dior scarf—Steve doesn’t even want to know how much that cost. Sam got him a new leather jacket, Clint made him a little coupon book of favours—archery lessons, bringing Steve’s favourite snacks to movie night, giving up his movie-choosing turn, etc.—which is actually very sweet. And then there’s Thor, who brought him a bottle of Asgardian alcohol, swearing that it can get Steve just on the right side of drunk. Pepper gives Steve a credit card to get some new clothes, which Bucky gets way too excited at. Then there’s Bruce and Tony, who force enlist Natasha to cover Steve’s eyes.

“Just trust us, Cap,” Tony says.

“Yeah, you’ll love it,” Bruce chimes in. And Steve thinks, _if Bruce was in on it, it can't be that bad, right?_ But then Steve hears Bucky gasp and it makes his heart pound. _It’s a birthday gift,_ Steve tells himself. _It’s not like it can be anything harmful, right?_

“Okay, okay, okay,” Tony says excitedly. “Are you ready, Capcicle?” And Steve groans.

“I would be if you’d stop calling me that,” he says dryly.

“Might have to, the way Robocop is glaring at me,” Tony says, an edge of apprehension to his voice.

“Boys!” Pepper scolds, and Steve is grinning, eyes still covered.

“Okay, open your eyes,” Tony says. And Natasha moves her hands away. Steve glances around the room, not understanding what the gift is. But then he looks down to the coffee table and sees it.

Keys to what?

“Happy birthday!” Tony and Bruce sing. Steve doesn’t get it. And then he does.

“A motorcycle,” he says.

“Yes,” tony replies.

“You two got me a motorcycle. 

“Yes?” Bruce asks. And Steve can see everyone waiting expectantly for Steve to smile, for him to do _anything_ , but he can't. Bucky is grinning at him, but his eyes are edged with concern. And then Steve launches off the couch and catches both men in his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Bruce embraces him back while Tony just pats his shoulder. Steve pulls back and beams at them. This is the best present of the night. A fucking motorcycle.

This is one of the best birthdays Steve’s had in a while. So he enjoys the party, the cake, the people. He has _fun_. And then it’s suddenly late, and Bucky is dragging him upstairs. Natasha winks at him as they leave, and Steve grins back.

“Got one more present for you, Stevie,” Bucky says, pulling Steve down onto the couch. There’s a wrapped present—badly wrapped—on the coffee table. Steve looks over at Bucky sitting next to him on the couch.

“You didn’t have to, Buck,” Steve says, running his hands over the wrapping paper. Bucky just squeezes Steve’s knee and gestures for him to open it. So Steve does. And then he grins so wide it may split his face. “Oh, Bucky,” he whispers, running his hand over the brand-new, leather-bound sketchbook. There’s also a set of charcoal pencils that had to have been at least thirty dollars—they were that perfect.

“I noticed you haven’t been drawing,” Bucky explains. “And you’re so good at it, you _loved_ it. So . . . I figured . . .” he trails off, uncertain.

“Bucky, I love it.” And Steve turns to face him, placing the gifts carefully on the table. “I love you,” he adds, still smiling. Bucky leans in and presses their foreheads together. Steve just breathes the moment in, so fucking happy to have this back.

 

“I love you too, Stevie.” And Steve leans in and kisses him, so very enthralled by this man that he doesn’t notice Bucky tugging on his shirt until the brunet just pulls it off.

“That’s how it is?” Steve teases, kissing him again.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky murmurs into their kiss. And Steve is just fine with this—with whatever Bucky wants, however much Bucky wants to take. The older man pulls his own shirt over his head, and Steve takes that in.

He’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Sure, there are scars along his chest and back, and scarring around his metal arm, but he’s a work of art and Steve promises himself that the first sketch in his new sketchbook will be of Bucky. 

“Quit your staring and kiss me,” Bucky mutters, and Steve laughs.

It’s so easy from there, like breathing. They fall into their old rhythm—Bucky pulling Steve into the bedroom while slowly shedding clothes along the way. When they finally get to the bed, they’re both naked, and Bucky is laying him out across the mattress, hovering on top of him. They rut slowly for countless minutes, just enjoying the feel of one another. But then Bucky grabs Steve’s lube from where he _knows_ it’s going to be inside Steve’s nightstand, and slicks his fingers. He eyes Steve for a moment, but when Steve nods—he’s beyond words at this point—Bucky inserts one slowly. And _holy shit_. 

“Bucky, fuck,” Steve moans, unable to keep it in. They don’t have to be quiet anymore. It’s legal now, and Stark’s soundproofing is top of the line. It’s on every floor. “ _More_.” So Bucky gives it to him, seeming as helpless as Steve is.

Slowly, Bucky stretches him open. Everything is so slow and that’s perfectly okay with Steve because he’s missed this _so fucking much_. He wants it to last forever. And just as slowly, Bucky kisses and nips down Steve’s chest, over his abdomen, and to his pelvis. He sucks a mark there—a mark that Steve wishes would stay for more than ten minutes, but it won't—before taking Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Steve slams his head back into the pillows, grasping at the sheets with one hand while latching onto Bucky’s hair with the other. Whimpers of _oh God_ and _Bucky_ fall shakily out of his mouth, and he tries to pull Bucky off because he’s going to come in all of five seconds if Bucky does stop. But the brunet fucking _opens his eyes_ and groans around Steve’s cock and that’s it, Steve’s coming. He’s coming so hard that he’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second, his entire body clenching up and spasming, hand knotted in his lover’s hair.

When he comes to, Bucky is lavishing kisses over his thighs and hipbones, sucking marks everywhere like he’s trying to claim Steve. But Steve is already his, and he knows that. Or he should.

“Get up here,” Steve gasps, still trying to catch his breath. “C’mon, c’mon. Get the fuck up here.” And Bucky comes up laughing, and kisses him even more breathless. “I need you. Now.” And Bucky gazes down at him for a moment before moving to settle between Steve’s legs. He looks up at Steve, asking. Steve shakes his head. They don’t need a condom. Steve hasn’t been with anyone since the 40’s—and that was Bucky—and Bucky got checked out when Bruce did his physical.

So Bucky pushes in, all the while rubbing his flesh hand soothingly over Steve’s hip and thigh. Steve just throws his head back and groans. He’d forgotten how satisfying being filled like this is. How _intimate_ it is to have Bucky inside him and on top of him and in his space. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

So when Bucky begins to move, Steve is robbed of his words, of his breath. They’re both quiet, letting out the softest whimpers before the loudest moans. They know they don’t have to be quiet, but this is just for them. This is something they don’t need people asking questions about, something between the two of them to savour and to file away in their memories: the first time they’ve been together since the 40’s. 

And so when Steve’s close, he just pulls Bucky down in order to kiss him, spurring Bucky on faster with a heel pressed to the back of his thigh and a tilt of his hips.

“Oh, God,” Bucky moans. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” And then he’s coming, and he just fucks Steve through it, nailing his prostate. It doesn’t take long for Steve to come for the second time with Bucky fucking him like this, his face buried in Steve’s neck.

After, they curl up together, breathing heavily and breathing in the scent of one another and sweat and sex. They take a quick shower—together, of course—and spend a very long time after kissing lazily before Bucky yawns and takes Steve into his arms. And Steve blinks up at him, sleepy and content and so in love.

“I’m so incredibly glad,” he says, “to have you back.” And Bucky smiles down at him and kisses his damp hair.

“I’m incredibly glad to be back.” And Steve tucks his head under Bucky’s chin and closes his eyes. “I love you,” Bucky whispers into the darkness. Steve kisses his jaw softly.

“I love you, too.” They fall asleep like that, Steve curled up tightly and pressed to Bucky’s side, Bucky’s arm tightly around Steve. And right before Steve falls asleep, he thinks about how incredibly lucky they are to have each other again. How incredibly lucky they are to get to have this—their second chance. 

Because there’s no way Steve is letting go again.


End file.
